


Only The Brave Can Accept It

by I_Will_Disappear



Series: Puppies [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, College, Depression, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:19:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Will_Disappear/pseuds/I_Will_Disappear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's ringing in your ears, a sharp pain in your heart, and your stomach in your throat, because you can hear his voice, clear through the alcohol and the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only The Brave Can Accept It

There are all types of phone calls.

You know this fact very well; why, this very moment the phone was ringing.

Ring, ring, ringing in the other room somewhere.

Just keep fucking ringing, but you can’t bother to get up off the fucking cold, kissing bathroom tiles to answer it.

A little too late in the early twist of light in the morning to want to be in contact with anyone, to lost to be able to pretend that everything is going to be okay.

You want the ringing to stop; you can hear all of them ringing, the kitchen phone, the bedroom phone, the living room phone, even your traitorous cell phone.

You want to collapse on your side, maybe crawl under the sink or into the tub; you think you will end up clutching at the toilet instead, heaving into it if the ringing didn’t stop.

You won’t every take their calls, can’t take it if they call crying and pleading all ‘we want you home where you belong’, or ‘we miss you so much.’ But worse is you don’t ever want to hear him say ‘you left me.’ because it wasn’t fair and he left first.

You topple to the side and squirm out into the hall.

Your room mate is out somewhere having a life, having fun, having everything she can; you are stuck with the ringing, all the ringing calling out your name, over and over and over again.

You hate it when it rings like that the most.

You try to stand.

It takes a few too many tries before you manage and the phone has stopped, it’s peaceful and telling, you sigh.

The ringing starts again as you were just about to let yourself fall back to the ground, drowned in your own vomit by afternoon, hopefully late morning.

It’s a fast, mad stumble vertigo to the phone, hunting it in your tunnel-esque vision.

You can take calls and messages with all the others.

Little pink hearts or pale yellow flowers sticky noted to the phone for her when she comes back.

You can take messages even when you’re drunk off your ass, learned to take surprisingly good messages and notes, and letters, and books, all when you’re drunk and unafraid of everything.

It’s a quick almost broken nose to the phone stand and a slurred greeting.

No one beside your dad calls for you, so you don’t care if one of her friends hears your sloppy speech.

All of her friends probably thought you were an alcoholic, they were probably right.

You giggle into the silence on the line with your thought; nerd by day, drunk by night.

‘You need to come back’

It’s a voice you dread, the voice that haunts your dreams and pulls you deeper into your fantasies and nightmares; that cloying voice rumbling like thunder and want.

‘We need you here on Monday.’

There’s long pauses for you to speak, like he wants to hear your voice as much as you did, didn’t, want to hear his.

‘A new pack is coming by; we need to meet them whole.’

And you lie down on the floor, slide down like a sock monkey thrown to a wall, lay limp and vulnerable to the inconsiderate hands of a child.

‘You need to be here, they’re coming by on Tuesday.’

You breathe as much as your clogged throat will allow, as much as the tears can let you, you lay still.

You wish he could talk to you all the time, wish he would talk you to sleep, but if wishes were horses, then you could be in love and not hurt as much as you do.

‘You need to be here.’

You can hear his breath, can hear his panting as you breathe into the phone and stare into the hall at the door.

The phone lying in your hand as you cry.

‘You need to be here, remember.’

And you lay the phone on the ground and turn away from him, curl into yourself like your good at.

Hid from everything that you want because you know you can’t have it.

You stare at your door now; start to crawl toward it as you sob, only now hearing your coked sobs, your painful whines and dying near screams that rip from your throat.

You just want somewhere safe, somewhere you can feel okay, but your room is to dark.

All you can do is pull blankets from your bed and crawl under it, where it can squeeze you and keep you warm; where no one will look, where no one could find you.

You can lay your head down; can be washed away in your sea of salty tears and crashing sobs and cries.

You can squeeze your eyes closed tight and pretend that you don’t see claws and teeth razor sharp and vicious waiting to tear into you more than he already has.

Pretend you can’t see them pull from the shadows trying to scent you out and eat your heart.

When you wake she will be home laying on the floor looking at you and trying to figure out what is wrong.

She can probably smell the vodka and whiskey on you, not a nice mix; she probably found the bottles too.

She’s sweet, you think why you could not have meet someone like her; you could have easily fallen in love with someone like her.

You take a shuddering breath and drag what remains of yourself out from your hiding place and book a ticket back home; you could finally get your jeep over when you drove   
it back.

You try to be someone that you used to be in high school as she makes you breakfast.

Try to cover your pain as you see your mess all cleaned away, the phone hung on its stand.

You try to pull the wool over your eyes, and over hers too; it doesn’t work, the wool worn to thinly over your course of living in the apartment, of being able to walk around with a broken heart and skin peeled open and back for her to see.

You pull yourself out of your plastic case and sit beside her; she strokes your hair and back, tries to help you lick your freshly opened wounds.

You walk away and to your plane with your tail between your legs; you’ll be back soon, after all hell waits for everyone, you just have to look back to be able to see it.

Only the brave can accept it.


End file.
